The Scientist and the Poet
by Miss Kitty Kat
Summary: When his vision went horribly wrong, her life was ended. His was changed forever. But what was life like before the fusion experiment? This is their story. Two college students. Otto Octavius and Rosalie Harris. The Scientist and the Poet. Movieverse.
1. Getting to Know You

A/N: This story is based off both the Spiderman 2 movie and the official novelization of the movie which I recommend any true fan read. Please review! All constructive comments would be greatly appreciated.  
  
Disclaimer: The only characters I do not own are obviously Otto and Rosie.  
  
"Hey! Watch it!"  
  
The young man causing such complaints was unfortunately not thinking about where he was or what was going on around him at that precise moment. As it was, he did seem a rather intense man, always lost in his thoughts, and never exactly in the present moment. At that moment, his thoughts were on the class he was hurrying to - a physics class. Because of this, as he rushed across the campus, he clumsily bumped into more than one student whose presence he failed to notice until it was too late. The heavy backpack slung onto his back unluckily hit them as the unintentional powerful weapon that it was.  
  
"Jerk!"  
  
The man, however, was almost completely oblivious to all this noise, outside from the thoughts buzzing inside his head, and only managed to mutter apologies inconsistently and few and far in between. You couldn't blame him too entirely much.  
  
Otto Octavius really was a brilliant young man... it was just that social situations were not his forte. He was a genius in other areas, however, particularly science, which he was studying there at the City College of New York. He was a fairly tall man, stout around the stomach, but with lanky limbs. Not particularly muscular. Shaggy, brown hair flopped constantly into his forehead and often into his equally soft brown, thoughtful eyes beneath brooding, bushy brow. He didn't seem the type of man to really care much about his looks. At the moment, he adorned a gold, knit long sleeve shirt with a turtleneck style collar over dark dress pants. If anything, it made his countenance seem even paler. Clearly, the boy didn't get enough sun.  
  
According to Otto, in a perfect world, he would be completely free of any and all distractions. Nothing would keep him from submerging into what he wanted most: his studies and his work. Really, what else could matter to him? He couldn't be bothered with such pointless trivialities as personal hair care, idle chit chat, or pausing to let someone go by him first. Such things could especially not bother him now, as checking his watch, he realized with an inward groan that he was going to be late for class. Again, the poor boy had spent too much time reading in the library. Hurrying along, he noticed little around him except his destination, looming ever closer in the distance: the science building.  
  
That was, however, until it happened, hitting him all at once. Though logically, he knew it wasn't possible, it had seemed time had suddenly slowed just for him. It was at once bewildering, but in a strangely pleasant way, like some wonderful dream. A lovely, unearthly voice had reached his ears. Even lovelier was the creature it was coming from.  
  
She wore a long-sleeved, plaid button-up shirt of soft pink and blue shades, with a long, dog-eared collar that was parted open by the first two undone buttons. Over that was worm a sort of suede, tanned vest that came down over the belt looped about her hip-hugging bell-bottoms. The girl was at once the epitome of a carefree-thinking hippie... but despite the striking figure she cut in that ensemble, it was her face that struck him the most.  
  
Two large, seemingly exotic brown eyes peered out serenely beneath a high, thoughtful brow. The rest of her face seemed finely chiseled, framed by long, sandy-brown hair that did not have the feathered back look common of women during that time period. Instead, it was almost perfectly straight, save for a charming curl that made the long, wispy strands curve into her face. To put it simply, he thought her beautiful. Angelic.  
  
In that moment, he knew he already knew her, even though they had never met before. In that moment, she made him feel like a poet...  
  
... which was convenient, considering the words she spoke to the little group of students gathered, sitting around her on the steps. She held a book, but did not glance at it as she spoke clearly from memory.  
  
" 'Time present and time past are both perhaps present in time future, and time future contained in time past. If all time is eternally present, all time is unredeemable. What might have been is an abstraction, remaining a perpetual possibility only in a world of speculation. What might have been and what has been point to one end, which is always present.' "  
  
Her voice was mesmerizing to him. She sounded so damn sure of herself and extremely confident, but at the same time, it was as calm as her demeanor, soft and quiet. The almost mellifluous timbre, however, had the power to immediately gain the attention of her little 'study group,' him included. As such, it didn't really matter to Otto that he hadn't a clue what the hell she was talking about.  
  
"T. S. Eliot wrote these lines in his first of 'Four Quartets,' titled 'Burnt Norton.' He wrote these poems over eight years, during World War II, his conversion to the Church of England, and his naturalization as being a British subject. They have to do with individual mortality and the endless span of human existence on Earth. Most likely, he wrote this poem during a walk in the Burnt Norton garden," she shrugged her shoulders slightly, "hence the name, with one Emily Hale, a woman he'd fallen in love with too late in life." She paused to smile lightly at the small chorus of 'awhs' and sighs from the little audience. Some were sincere and some were obviously sarcastic. "But his choice had been made when he married another woman, and there was no turning back to what might have been with Emily, even had it been the wiser choice. For as he also said, 'Footfalls echo in the memory down the passage which we did not take towards the door we never opened into the rose-garden. My words echo thus, in your mind.'"  
  
Otto at once knew he couldn't let this vision get away. He didn't want to regret not meeting her as this Eliot guy seemed to regret never marrying that Emily woman. He paused right behind the small group, keeping the couple books in his hands, but setting down his heavy backpack to watch her intently, and wait for his ideal, opportune moment.  
  
"Going back to the first passage I read, however, Eliot has simply stated that everything that has happened in the past, and everything yet to happen in the future only come together to meet in time present. However, he says that if there is a way all time is equally present, an 'eternal perspective,' if you will, as theologians call it, then all history is already said and done, fixed, and unchangeable." She arched a brow for emphasis, "or unredeemable."  
  
"That's... not entirely true."  
  
Heads turned and students murmured in quiet disbelief at this stranger who had dared openly debate their fearless leader just like that. Rosalie Harris was equally surprised.  
  
She'd noticed him walk up out of the corner of her eye earlier, but feeling already deep into her 'study lecture,' she'd just ignored him. Now that she was looking directly at him, however, a thin eyebrow arched curiously... and she wasn't quite sure if she should be annoyed, intrigued... or perhaps a mixture of both. His voice was quiet, slightly stuttering, and didn't sound as particularly confident as she felt, so that at least made her feel a trifle better about not being too terribly annoyed.  
  
Rosie at once didn't take him for a fellow English student. Something about the unruliness of his shaggy hair, or, perhaps, just the fact that a glance at the spines of his books convinced her. Quantum Physics. Physics II. Biology. Part of her wanted to groan inwardly. A science student. Perfect.  
  
However, something about his eyes made her give slight pause from her dry thoughts. Beneath a thick brow were two eyes that were soulful, expression- filled, but... sad, somehow. Sorrowful, as if they had a distinctly bittersweet quality to them. It was almost as if he held a constant 'puppy- dog' look in those warm depths that captured her entire focus. It took a mental effort for her to regain a calm, almost cool exterior to address him with professional politeness.  
  
"Would you care to explain, Mr....?"  
  
"Octavius," he grinned openly, as if pleased with her reaction. "Otto Octavius."  
  
Someone snickered in amusement at his name. Rosie and Otto ignored them.  
  
"Well then, Mr. Octavius-"  
  
"Otto, please."  
  
"...Otto," she half-smiled ever-so-slightly, crossing thin arms over her chest. Her demeanor wasn't exactly what one might call 'warm,' however, so much as it was calculating. "Do enlighten us."  
  
He gave her his most charming smile. " With pleasure." Otto spoke in a level voice that everyone could hear, and though with his eyes never leaving her, Rosie felt as if he were addressing her only. It was strangely intimate, considering the scientific topic he was talking about was anything but.  
  
"To start at the beginning," he cleared his throat, starting slowly at first, but gaining more confidence as he went on, " I should explain that there's really no true 'at rest' because, quite simply, we cannot tell when we are in motion or at rest. When you are driving in the bus down the rode, going, say 40 miles per hour, can you actually feel that's how fast you are in motion?" He arched a brow. "Feels the same to me. Likewise, you can't say you are moving and everything else is at rest, just as you can't be at rest and have nothing else in motion. But perhaps you'd like to find out how fast you are moving. All you need is a book lamp to explain this. When you turn the light on, you can see how fast the rays go by. The lamp moves with you, but the rays move at c. You then see the rays move a little more or less than c, and that's how fast you move."  
  
He paused, taking a moment to glance down at his stolen audience. There were many blank and uninterested looks. A couple people were standing to move away from this boredom. It was Rosie, to his pleasant surprise, however, that questioned him.  
  
"Tell me, Otto, what exactly does this have to do with T.S. Eliot's poetry being wrong?" she asked in that softly quiet voice of hers that held a dry touch to it, but it did not annoy him the least bit. It made him grin, up to her challenge. Otto was completely in his element now.  
  
"How glad I am you asked, " he quirked a brow at her, talking now as if he were the all-knowing teacher here, and they the students. "The rays move at c, you see, whether or not you are in rest or motion. Say, you had a friend running past you and you were both looking at that ray; it would still move at the same speed for you both."  
  
"Oh, perfect, like its that easy to watch rays go by," one tall, lanky, blonde-haired guy snorted sarcastically.  
  
Otto only shrugged lightly.  
  
"Well, then, let me put it in simpler terms so you might understand," he smiled evenly, and the other glared back. Rosie had to bite back a smirk, just as the 'scientist' waved a hand in her direction. "Say this...lovely woman here was on a bus going down the road. Meanwhile, I'll be sitting on the side of that road, waiting, perhaps, for that bus to bring her to me." He flashed a charming smile that she found herself returning, though hers seemed more amused than anything. "Then, lets take a rock from the moon and drop it towards us. It breaks into two pieces that burn, and just as they hit the ground, Miss Poet and I are side by side, one piece hitting the road close, and the other further up that road. I see the rocks hit at the same time, but she sees one hit first, then the other. Who's to say, however, who is at rest and who isn't? If I say I'm at rest, then I'll say they both hit at the same time. If she says she's at rest, then she'll say one rock beat the other... and vice versa. If there is no true 'rest,' then there must all be no true 'time,' right?"  
  
It seemed, while he was talking, more people had left. Now, all that remained were Rosie, standing there looking thoughtful, the blonde-haired guy, still glaring fiery daggers, and a girl with shorter, dark brown hair who looked confused and glanced often up at her 'fearless leader.' A friend, perhaps, staying only for the sake of her dear friend the 'poet'? That amused Otto. He went on, however, because he still wasn't quite finished.  
  
"Time moves slowly for people in motion. As such, who's to say we can't travel through time? All we'd have to accomplish is traveling faster than speeds of light. Only problem is, in approaching the speed of light, or C, time slows until at C, it stops completely. To move faster if time has stopped involves quantum tunneling. Once velocity becomes greater than C, time moves backward, and we are in what is known as negative time. With all these complexities having to do with time, why can't we go back in time to meet in time past? True, the past, or history may be completely defined, as Mr. Eliot stated, making any effort to change time past impossible... or, perhaps any attempts to do so might create..." he raised his brow, pausing for emphasis as he gazed right at Rosie, "a parallel universe."  
  
Rosie wasn't completely sure she understood everything he had explained, but she felt something of admiration for this man nonetheless. To her, it had seemed he'd gone a great deal into a subject that did not entirely have that much to do with her poetry analysis. She understood what he'd been getting at towards the end; how there was no true time, and therefore, none to meet at, as Eliot had implied. But... a parallel universe? Well, if anything by the warming of the smile upon her face, she had clearly been charmed, but more from the man himself, and not the topic of his lecture.  
  
"You sound as if you are hoping to create time travel someday," she mused quietly, observing him with the same thoughtful air.  
  
"Oh, no," he shrugged his shoulders rather modestly, at once seeming a bit shy again. "It is a great power I could never hope to seek. Let other scientists 'play God.' "  
  
The remaining blonde-haired young man, however, wasn't quite as impressed as she.  
  
"Science and poetry have no place together," he said cooly, with a glare that, to Otto, seemed rather grudging. Jealous, perhaps? "Why don't you run along and play with your chemistry set, little boy?"  
  
And just like that, reality snapped back to her. Rosie sighed in quiet exasperation, glancing to him. "Eric..."  
  
Otto eyed the other with light interest, rather than taking offense. Deciding to take it in stride, he shrugged his shoulders, an amused smile touching his lips.  
  
"On the contrary, my friend," he said, taking the bold initiative to step forward and closer to Rosie. "I believe science and poetry should go... hand in hand." He was smiling at her rather knowingly when he offered her his hand, as if they shared some special secret.  
  
The smile on her face had returned as if Eric had never ruined the moment. She took his hand, and he immediately covered it with his other, eyes never leaving hers.  
  
"Your name," he pleaded quietly, softly, as if the two were suddenly all alone upon those rock steps. "Please."  
  
She gazed into his eyes in wonder, answering almost without thinking, "Rosalie Harris."  
  
Of course. It fit perfectly.  
  
"Sweet Rosalie," he murmured.  
  
It felt so comfortable, that touch and eye contact, that both would have had no problem staying like that for much longer... had time really stopped, for them, in that moment? Of course it had not... and an interruption effectively ruined the moment this time.  
  
"Um... Rosie?" her friend, trying unsuccessfully to hide a smirk upon her lips, had stepped up beside her. "We're going to be late for class."  
  
Rosie had to blink herself back to reality, glancing at her friend. Standing just behind that girl, however, was a sight that quickly turned on warning lights in her head: the boy who had all but snarled at Otto earlier, Eric, was practically seething at her and her new, scientific friend. Never a good sign.  
  
"Yes, I'll be right there, Lily." Then looking away from this distraction and back to the 'scientist' before her, she raised a thin brow.  
  
"Are you aware you talk entirely too much?" she teased softly of his earlier 'lecture.'  
  
He only grinned wider in obvious amusement, his voice equally quiet. "Then I shall let you do all the talking next time."  
  
"Rosie!"  
  
Rosie glanced up and nodded at Lily, before hesitantly pulling her hand away from his warm touch.  
  
"It was... a pleasure," she said softly, her smile faint now.  
  
He only returned the smile, lost in those deep, brown depths of her eyes. With a reluctance that was obvious to the world, Eric included, she turned away, slowly allowing herself to be led in the direction of her class. Otto, meanwhile, had to blink himself awake to realize what was happening. She was leaving her, and in a moment, he'd have lost her, perhaps for good. He jumped to catch up just with her, ignoring the fact that Eric had his arm around her shoulders, intent on keeping her away from that threatening distraction. Otto found it faintly entertaining that he would seem such to a taller man like Eric.  
  
"Let me take you to dinner," he blurted out without thinking.  
  
All three turned. Both Rosie and her Lily looked surprised, the latter giggling softly, while Eric looked even madder than before, if that was at all possible.  
  
"What with... there being no true time..." Otto quickly went on, hoping to convince her, "I may never see you again... and I don't want to have any regrets like your Eliot friend did."  
  
"She's already got plans tonight, buddy," Eric snarled in a way that Otto knew he was anything but his 'buddy.'  
  
"Eric, please," Rosie turned to him, holding up a gentle hand. "I'll take care of this."  
  
Her reassuring smile at least held the 'beast,' as Otto idly thought of him, at bay. A quick glance was sent her friend's way, and seeming to understand that unspoken meaning, Lily took Eric's arm and started coaxing him towards their next class. He grudgingly, and very slowly, went along.  
  
Rosie looked at Otto calmly, her expression gently dry now.  
  
"Do you always try to charm girls this way?"  
  
He shook his head once, and his voice was quite sincere when he spoke.  
  
"No. Only you."  
  
Something about the way he said that, and the strange way he was making her feel, made her given in all at once. Her smile warmed.  
  
"I would suggest meeting here at 8:00 tonight, but how could we ever do that, if there is not one, real time?"  
  
He shrugged his shoulders lightly, cocking a brow. "Mr. Eliot seems to think that time present and time past all meet up in time future, doesn't he? Well, then. Let's just let his wisdom be our guide...and I'm sure we'll come back together just as we're meant to."  
  
Otto was so quietly appealing, it was impossible to refuse. Though he, himself, had never been one to believe in fate... there really was no other explanation for any of it. How could it be possible to feel as if they'd known each other all their lives?  
  
He was relieved when she simply nodded her head, smile never failing, but he had also expected it. It wasn't him being cocky, it was just that... he knew she would accept. That knowing look in her eyes was all he needed to reassure him she felt exactly the same way he did.  
  
It was meant to be.  
  
As it was, Rosie was the first one to reach the steps at the appointed time. However, save a few passing students, the steps, lighted only dimly by a lamp, were empty. Pulling the simple, long knit shawl closer about her upper body, she glanced down at the time. According to her watch, it was exactly 8 o'clock. Part of her long hair had been swept back from her face, though the rest trailed down past her shoulders. She'd ended up still having dinner with Eric, though she'd been quite distracted the entire time. It had been an effort to keep herself looking even half-interested in their usual dinner discussions... which were usually debates over poetry and other subjects an English student should be interested in. Now that she was out there waiting for that captivating little scientist, a sudden fear swept over her... what if he didn't show up?  
  
What if it had all been a strange, but pleasant, dream?  
  
Rosie sighed softly, sitting gently upon the steps. In every way, Eric Johnson really was perfect for her... they shared many things in common. Both were English majors. While he hoped to become a writer, she wanted to teach. English was her passion, and sharing the knowledge she was learning with youth seemed the perfect way to spend the rest of her days. Why then, however, had she become so susceptible to the mellisonant timbre of another's voice, or the intense gaze of his eyes? He was a science student. What could they possibly have in common? It was, at once, completely, utterly hopeless and as such, a disaster just waiting to happen.  
  
"How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach, when feeling out of sight for the ends of being and ideal grace."  
  
She knew that voice. She knew that voice quite well. It was quiet, but pleasantly smooth to hear. As such, she wasn't surprised to see it belonged to her new scientist friend. His words, however, did not fail to make her blush and smile softly. He had changed into a nicer shirt, and seemed to have tried combing his hair into a neater style... but he still had the same, almost goofy quality to him, despite the intense way he looked at her. Laughing softly, she buried her face in one hand shyly. Otto Octavius grinned, and went on, one hand clasped behind his back... or holding something... while the other moved in gesticulating gestures in the air. It was both an amusing and touching sight.  
  
"I love thee to the level of every day's most quiet need, by sun and candle- light," Otto continued, approaching her slowly. She peeked up at him through her fingers at first, but her hand slowly lowered at eye contact with him. "I love thee freely, as men strive for right. I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee with the passion put to use in my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose with my lost saints." It was here that he stopped before her, and bringing his hidden hand forward, revealed a lovely bouquet of daisies. "I love thee with the breath, smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death."  
  
Rosie smiled in soft surprise, as she took the flowers. They were simple, not overly much, but very sweet. Inhaling their pleasant perfume, her eyes danced back up to him... and she shook her head in disbelief.  
  
"Whatever happened to letting me do all the talking tonight?"  
  
Otto was surprised that this was her initial reaction to his poetry reading: dry and slightly sarcastic. But he smiled nonetheless, expression apologetic.  
  
"Forgive me. I promise, the rest of the night... is all yours."  
  
She quirked a brow at the implications, but ignored them. There was something both innocent and knowing in his eyes that had her mind in a confused swirl. So, instead, she changed the subject. Slightly.  
  
"So...you memorized Elizabeth Barrett Browning's poem and had time to get me flowers?" she asked softly, voice more sincere this time. "Well, Otto you really are... something."  
  
He just shrugged his shoulders modestly. When Otto put his mind to something, he nearly almost accomplished it. As such, memorizing that sonnet had not been extremely difficult. Reciting it to her lovely face, however, had not been a walk in the park.  
  
"I considered spouting more Einstein... but something told me this might work a little better."  
  
She arched a brow thoughtfully, leaning forward. "And if I had been a painter, would you have painted me a picture?"  
  
"Yes," Otto nodded, half-smiling quietly. "I would have painted you my heart."  
  
Tilting her head ever so slightly to one side, she contemplated him a moment, her lips pressed firmly together, he gazing back... until she couldn't take it anymore. This, after that perfect moment he'd woven with that lovely, simplistic poem, sparked something within her. Amused laughter escaped her lips before she had the time to raise a hand in an effort to stifle it. Otto looked bewildered, brow furrowing. Was she...laughing... at him?  
  
"That was too much, wasn't it?"  
  
"No, no," she spoke through girlish giggles, showing a youthfulness to him for the first time. "Its just... your words... taken literally... brought the most vivid mental image to my mind..."  
  
It took the serious Otto a moment to realize what she was talking about. When he did, he didn't seem to find it quite as amusing as she did. So, she thought she was a comedian, did she? Or perhaps... she thought he was... whatever the case, perhaps his initial reaction to her had been a bit off...  
  
"Well, thank you very much for smothering my hopes of spending an evening with an intelligent girl," he huffed with a frown, eyeing her dryly. "Perhaps it best if I just 'run along and play with my chemistry set,' then."  
  
After speaking so seriously, he turned without another word and started to walk back in the direction he had come. Rosie had managed to regain control of her composure by then, and sighed some. Honestly, if this grudge he and Eric obviously held for each other grew out of hand, she wasn't sure how she'd be able to deal with it.  
  
"Oh, Otto, please - don't be that way!" But seeing that he wasn't stopping, she pushed herself up to her feet to catch up with him, daisies held fast in one hand. "Wait!" She grabbed his arm, but still he didn't stop, and she was forced to follow alongside him. "Please understand... I'm not used to guys serenading me with poetry like this."  
  
He arched a brow in disbelief. "You study poetry, and yet you've never had men feed you love poems?" Arms were crossed over his chest. "Even 'blondie?'"  
  
Rosie would have found that nickname given to Eric amusing, had the situation not been so serious.  
  
"No... I mean, yes," she sighed, absently adjusting the wrap about her shoulders as she kept up with him, a task hard even with her long legs. "I mean, I'm not used to it being done by someone like you; someone who doesn't care about poetry like they do. Someone who would probably rather be studying Einstein and his long-winded theories."  
  
Otto rolled his eyes, but shook his head, stopping so suddenly that she almost lost her balance. "No. I would rather be here getting to know this...strangely captivating creature who has caught my eye. The poetry was an added bonus."  
  
There was a touch of sarcasm and blatant exasperation in his voice now, especially with poetry bit. She expected as much from him.  
  
She smirked. "Admit it. The poetry was just a way to get to me. To charm me."  
  
He raised his arms at his sides in vexation. "Do you think poetry too cultured and refined a hobby for a mere science student to sample into?"  
  
She raised her brow and shrugged her shoulders as if saying 'well...' and he scowled, pointing a finger at her.  
  
"Okay, don't answer that." A heavy sigh of exasperation escaped his lips as he studied Rosie a moment, in all her sparkling, teasing glory. It wasn't him, it was her that was really something. Something... irresistible and intolerable combined into the body of one good-looking young woman. "You know, now that I think about it... I don't know how we're ever going to make this work."  
  
"We do seem quite different, don't we?" she countered quite seriously.  
  
"You spout poetry, yet you make fun of a guy who spouts it back to you..."  
  
"...and you have a terrible temper."  
  
Otto frowned at that, opening his mouth to protest, but was somehow silenced by the pointed look she gave him. She was right. Damn that woman.  
  
He thrust his hands into his pockets, grumbling now. "Honestly, Miss Harris... Albert Einstein is a genius. He is not long-winded."  
  
"Oh, really? Then tell me, who's theory did it take you a good ten or twenty minutes to explain earlier today?"  
  
He avoided eye contact wit her grudgingly. "... Albert Einstein's."  
  
Man, he was really starting to hate it that woman being right all the time. Grumbling, he continued walking, but now much slower so his intentions were clear: he no longer wanted to be rid of Rosie and her softly amused conversation, even as much as it irritated him.  
  
"Are you so sure Blondie-"  
  
"Eric."  
  
"-whatever. Are you so sure he's not using poetry as a means to get closer to you?" He arched a skeptical, thick brow. "Because he seems like more the 'physical' type to me. Track, perhaps. Football, maybe. He's a bit on the 'skinny' side."  
  
Rosie laughed quietly at that, nudging Otto playfully with her elbow.  
  
"As if you are in any position to talk!" she retorted. "I don't see very much muscle on you... but, then again, I suppose spending one's time in labs and libraries doesn't leave much room for working out, does it?"  
  
He frowned, turning to her with offense at her obvious stereotype. "See here, Miss Harris. Just because I happen to enjoy spending time in labs and libraries doesn't mean I don't find time to exercise." Stopping, he raised his arm, pushing his sleeve back and 'flexing' his 'muscles.' "Go ahead. Feel that."  
  
As he tried to ignore the cute little smirk upon her features, she reached out a hand to touch his skin. Otto flinched initially, not expecting the surprisingly cool touch of her fingertips on his otherwise warm skin. He swallowed a bit, but she didn't seem effected in the least bit, only shrugging her shoulders carelessly.  
  
"I'm sorry, Otto," she sighed in mock-sympathy, "but I'd spend a few more hours in the gym, if I were you. Those layers," and she reached out to jab his stomach lightly with one finger, "will only hide the lack of a toned physique for so long." A brow rose. "And call me Rosie. That's an order."  
  
Rosie liked to compliment herself on being able to play a bit of the 'actress' part. In reality, she could care less how much muscle he had. Nothing about his looks bothered her. Quite the contrary, he intrigued and... dare she think it... attracted her? Unfortunately, by the brief smile of amusement flickering over his lips, he seemed to see straight through her act. She was surprised, then, when he changed the subject.  
  
"Your hands are cold," he spoke with concern, nodding to the shawl worn about her shoulders. "I'm not so sure that's really doing its job."  
  
"Well, I'd consider firing it, but seeing as how its my own creation... that just wouldn't feel too noble," she countered back.  
  
Without another thought, he shrugged off his jacket. "Here. Wear this. You can at least put your hands in the pockets."  
  
"Otto, then you'll be cold..."  
  
"Nonsense. Like you said, I have more than enough 'layers' to me," he half- grinned gently, awkwardly setting the jacket about her slender shoulders. "I have more than enough insulation."  
  
Looking back upon their evening together later, Rosie would be surprised at how easily and freely conversation came with him. They never ended up going anywhere, really, just spent the time walking about campus talking. It was nice and rather refreshing, really. Despite the cold, she found his long jacket kept her rather warm. As the topic of their talk changed, Otto had almost immediately wanted to know all about her.  
  
"My life story is not too exciting," she conceded lightly. "I grew up in Queens."  
  
"Ah," he arched a brow. "That explains your tough exterior."  
  
She smiled gently, but shook her head. "I'm afraid its only a facade, really. I'd much less hurt a fly than stand up to someone physically."  
  
"Aha, so that's why you keep good old Blondie around..."  
  
That brought on a well-deserved nudge by her elbow. He chuckled in quiet amusement.  
  
"I'm sorry. No, actually, that seems to be something we have in common: the not wanting to hurt a fly."  
  
"...except, in your case, its not so much 'not wanting' as not being physically able to hurt even something as minuscule as a fly," she shrugged her shoulders carelessly.  
  
He shot her a look that was received with her coy little grin.  
  
"Well, thank you, Miss Rosie, but I was trying to be serious. I don't see the point in fighting. Why do that to your body and your blood pressure when such arguments could easily be solved by simple words alone?" Otto clasped his hands loosely behind his back as they walked. "Or, I find using a string of long, complex words, too difficult for one such as Blondie to process, also works quite nicely. I've learned that, more often than not, it confounds and confuses the other so much that he just decides I'm not worth the effort of putting his mind to such exhausting activities, and gives up."  
  
The grin upon Rosie's lips had been widening with amusement during his little explanation, until she was practically bursting with little smirks, her brown eyes sparkling playfully. She shook her head at him, studying him thoughtfully. He frowned, glancing at her. She really did have a way of making fun of him when he was trying to be serious, didn't she?  
  
"What is it now?"  
  
"You," she explained simply, "are, by far, the oldest young person I've ever met. Its like you're a 35-year-old trapped in a 21-year-old's body."  
  
"I'll have you know, I am 22 years old since last January," he huffed in mock-offense.  
  
"Oh, pardon me," she apologized teasingly. "You're just a mystery to me. You've got the brain and logic of a 35-year-old, but the maturity level of a 16-year-old." He shot her another look to which she only raised her brow, stopping in front of him so that he was also forced to stop walking. "Otto, don't deny it. You're jealous."  
  
"Jealous of what?"  
  
"Eric!" she exclaimed. "You haven't even officially met him, yet every other sentence that comes out of your mouth includes 'Blondie' in it. "  
  
"Me? Jealous of that buffoon?" He snorted dryly. "I don't know where you get your delusions."  
  
She sighed in quiet disbelief. "Otto, he's not a bad guy. He's really quite an intelligent thinker, like you, except that he dabbles in literature and poetry instead of science and physics. Eric wants to become a successful writer someday, and there is no doubt in my mind that he will do just that."  
  
Otto looked away, crossing his arms over his chest. "You seem to think quite highly of Blond... Eric."  
  
"Of course I do. He was one of the first friends I made when I first came here, a bright-eyed, shy little girl straight out of high school." Rosie smiled distantly, shrugging her shoulders again. "He's a good man."  
  
That quiet admiration in her voice was more than he could bear at the moment. As such, the grudging Otto did not give in or give up only to run away with his tail between his legs. It would take much more for him to give up this frustrating young beauty before him.  
  
"Fine. Perhaps I'll get to know this 'wonder boy' of yours someday," he muttered, sounding anything but sincere. Gesturing awkwardly with a quick little wave of one hand, he indicated they continue walking. "So, why did you decide to move here from Queens?"  
  
She was a bit thrown off by the sudden change in subject or, as it were, the sudden return to the initial subject. Walking alongside him again, though, she managed to recollect her thoughts.  
  
"I... wanted to hope there was something bigger out there for me than what Queens held," she mused, absently reaching up a hand to move long, wispy strands of hair from her face. "For me, that turned out to be New York City. I love it here."  
  
He was still frowning, looking rather grumpy. "The smog takes some getting used to, not to mention nearly getting run over everyday. I still think people here drive like maniacs. If you haven't crossed the street by the time that light turns green, they'll just run you over."  
  
Rosie smiled wryly at dryly grudging attitude. "That's why I ride a bike. Its both faster and easier than taking a cab. I save on money, and I don't pollute the air."  
  
Glancing at her, he shook his head at the overly certain look upon her delicate features.  
  
"Don't look so smug. People get killed riding those... contraptions all the time."  
  
She blinked in surprise that he seemed so against such an 'invention.' "You don't like bicycles?"  
  
"Its more a matter of the bicycles not liking me."  
  
Watching him closely as if in deep thought, she nodded, that certain smile still lingering upon her lips. "Alright then. Tomorrow, you and I are going bike riding in Central Park."  
  
Surprised didn't not explain the half of what Otto looked. "Was I just speaking in another language, Rosie? I told you I don't like bikes. Besides, I don't even own one."  
  
"Then we'll rent you one," she shrugged her shoulders lightly. "Oh, come on... don't tell me the scientist is scared."  
  
"The scientist is not scared, he just thinks the poet is suicidal."  
  
Rosie only raised a thin brow, giving him a look that could take on his perpetual puppy-eyes expression any day. It was probably due to the fact that she was an attractive woman, and he was not, and she had that hair that just made him want to... Damn it. Well... on the one hand... this would be the perfect way to see her again, and so soon at that, too. Plus, she had been the one who suggested getting together again, and Otto found it quite encouraging.  
  
"Fine," he gave in, seemingly reluctantly. "But if I end up checking into the hospital, I'm taking back everything I ever said to you, poems included."  
  
"Fine," she nodded carelessly, waving it away thoughtlessly as she continued. "I don't think I'll really miss that endless lecture you shared with me about perpetual 'rest,' or 'time,' or a scientist smoking something.... or whatever it was about."  
  
He narrowed his eyes at her casualness and 'not caring attitude,' suddenly not sure if he felt more the urge to push her away... or pull her into his arms. That knowing smirk playing about her lips didn't help, either. Luckily, perhaps, for them both, she flew back into their initial conversation subject, causing him to reluctantly leave such thoughts behind for the moment.  
  
"So, where did you grow up, Otto?"  
  
"Schenectady, New York, home to the headquarters of the General Electric Company and a community college," he stated rather matter-of-fact, as if reciting from a tourist brochure or something. "As such, I don't think it a big surprise that I also moved to the big city."  
  
"Schenectady," she said slowly, and still unintentionally mispronouncing it. "Never been there."  
  
"You're not missing much."  
  
She smiled a bit. "Did you always want to study science?"  
  
He shrugged his shoulders, crossing his arms tighter about his stomach. Even though walking and talking had kept him warm up until that point, the chill in the air was becoming more noticeable, especially to his bare neck and cheeks.  
  
"I'd been creating inventions and blowing up my room since I was just a little boy," he smiled quietly in fond remembrance. "I used to take apart everything in the house. My parents would punish me and take away any privileges of leaving the house to do whatever young boys of my age were supposed to do. What they didn't realize until it was too late, however, was that this wasn't a punishment to me at all. The house was full of things worth taking apart to see how they worked. So yes, I suppose I always have wanted to do what I am doing now in college."  
  
Rosie had been gazing at him silently, her expression warm. For all his mysterious and slightly irritating habits, he was also an admirable man. She couldn't help being drawn to him, even when he spoke so passionately about what interested him in life. Otto had a way of charming a person even without seeming to have those intentions. It was at once attractive. Even when he had been lecturing her earlier about the theory of relativity, she had felt exactly the same way. It had bothered her then, but now... it was comfortably relaxing.  
  
"And you?" he asked, shivering slightly. "Did you always know you wanted to study English so men would flock to you and serenade you with sweet poetry?"  
  
His dry comments snapped her back to reality and she smirked gently.  
  
"Well, actually..." she began hesitantly, warm eyes flickering away from his a moment, "there was a time all I ever really wanted was to..." However, she interrupted herself, glancing back when she noticed he was shivering. "Otto, you are cold."  
  
He arched a brow, shaking his head. "What? No, I'm not."  
  
"Liar," she chided fondly. "You're shivering. Here, wear this..."  
  
But instead of giving him back his jacket she still wore, it practically engulfing her slender figure, she held out the long, soft material of her knit wrap. Otto looked skeptical.  
  
"Rosie, that's a woman's shawl."  
  
"Yes, you're very observant," she grinned, "but believe me, its very warm."  
  
But he stubbornly still did not move to take it, so in the end, she stepped in front of him, effectively stopping him so she could cast it about his shoulders and drape it around him gently. For a moment, her arms were around him before she laid her hands atop his arms lightly, holding the shawl there on him. Instinctively, his hands had also flown up to keep the material from sliding off his arms, and as luck would have it... they ended up touching her smaller fingers. Their gazes instantly met in surprise... but before she could move away, he held her hands there a moment, a slow smile appearing upon his face. A soft blush tinged her cheeks, but she returned his gentle smile. It was a moment he wanted to draw out, or even slow down time, so that he could lean down towards her, touch her feathery hair and...  
  
...but Rosie's intentions were different. She blinked suddenly, looking away past him just as he'd gained the courage to make the first move.  
  
"Oh, well, this is my dorm, then," she spoke quickly, sliding her hands out from beneath his directly. There was a nervous air about her that he hadn't seen all night, and he wasn't good at hiding his disappointment.  
  
She'd pulled away first.  
  
Still, he took in it as much stride as he could, glancing over his shoulder at the dormitories they'd finally reached. Nodding a bit, he started to shrug off her shawl.  
  
"Keep it, please," she said hurriedly, raising a hand as if to touch his arm, but letting it drop back abruptly. "I mean... well, I'll just keep your jacket and you keep my shawl. That way, we'll have no choice but to meet each again tomorrow to exchange them."  
  
He looked at her in pleasant wonder a moment. She still wanted to meet?  
  
"Bike riding at Central Park?"  
  
She nodded, smiling faintly. "I have class until four, but then I've got a break until work at six, so say... four-fifteen, then?"  
  
Otto could only nod in his light confusion. "Sounds perfect."  
  
"Good,"she bobbed her head again, already backing up towards her dormitory building. "My bike and I will be waiting for you." She frowned, mentally feeling like kicking herself for such a corny statement. "Oh and..." Rosie's hand still holding the lilies shot up. "Thank you again for the f- flowers." The slight stuttering had been thanks to her slight stumbling going up the stairs to the front door. Giving one last, sweet smile, she turned and all but raced inside the building.  
  
Otto just stood there a moment, brow raised in surprise and amusement to the 'graceful' scene he'd just encountered. Grinning and shaking his head lightly, he finally turned to walk away, one of his hands idly fingering the soft material of her shawl, wrapped about his shoulders still. As he walked, he suddenly realized he'd be skipping a lab to spend time with her tomorrow, but with that realization came the thought that... he didn't care. Otto Octavius, physics major and scientific geek, did not care at all. 


	2. Afternoon in the Park

A/N: Thank you so much for all the reviews! They're what's really keeps me inspired and pumped to keep on writing. Keep them coming! So, with no further adieu, on to chapter two!

* * *

**R**osie was in an especially good mood the next day. She spoke up even more spiritedly- if that was possible - in class discussions, surprising even the teachers that knew her passion for English so well. Professor Johnson, probably her favorite literature teacher, was especially puzzled and addressed her after class while students were filing out.  
  
"Romeo and Juliet is not a particularly uplifting and cheerful play," the bearded man countered thoughtfully, "especially what we covered today: the last act. Yet, you chirped happily ever other moment like some twittering bird more annoying than the stupid ones outside." He raised a brow. "And they cause a ruckus enough by taking daily suicide dives into my glass window."  
  
Rosie threw her head back slightly and laughed in pure amusement at his dry chiding.  
  
"But Mr. Johnson, its such a beautiful story about this love that doesn't happen everyday," she protested lightly, her smile distant and almost wistful. "The fact that they died for their love only makes the story all the more powerful."   
  
Johnson just shook his head, thinking this Miss Harris was getting crazier and more like other normal, young women of her age, everyday.  
  
"Disappointing," he muttered, as she walked away.  
  
Even her friends noticed something was up, as the trio were walking outside during their lunch break.   
  
"Okay, so when did you guys set the date?" Katy Lee asked, her auburn curls bouncing about her shoulders as she walked.  
  
Not surprisingly, this caught Rosie completely off-guard. She arched a brow suspiciously.  
  
This did not sound good.  
  
"Date?"  
  
"Yeah," she continued, smiling knowingly and nudging Rosie with her elbow. "You and Eric. He did ask you, didn't he?" For a moment she seemed doubtful, but shook it away. "He must have! Oh, come on! Give in. Its so obvious."  
  
Rosie and Lily exchanged an uneasy glance. The latter had to ask what they both already assumed she meant.  
  
"Ask her what?"  
  
"To marry him, of course!" Katy looked surprised, as if this were indeed the most obvious thing in the entire world.   
  
Rosie's cheeks instantly tinged pinkish in a blush. The idea of Eric proposing to her had not even crossed her mind. To be honest, the blonde-haired boy had hardly crossed her mind all day. Smiling faintly, she shook her head and lowered her gaze.  
  
"He didn't ask me," she murmured, feeling both relieved and... immediately guilty that she was relieved Katy had not been talking about that someone else her thoughts had, indeed, been circling about since last night.  
  
Lily, however, was not relieved. Looking sharply to Katy, brow raised poignantly, she demanded answers.  
  
"Did he tell you he was going to ask Rosie?"  
  
Katy had a genuine dear-in-the-headlights look on her face. Rosie had to admit it was amusing, seeing the taller girl all but cower under Lily's quietly accusing stare and questions.  
  
"No! No, of course not!"  
  
"Then why did you ask her if he asked her to marry him?"  
  
"I just thought that... well..." her eyes danced to Rosie, " you looked so happy, I just figured your boyfriend had something to do with it."  
  
Lily stilled looked annoyed. Rosie, however, felt more understanding. Katy had made an honest mistake, really. Shaking her head gently, she leaned over and patted the confused girl's arm gently.  
  
"I'm just having a good day, Katy. That's all."  
  
That was enough to end the topic. There wasn't much else said of any real interest to Rosie before Katy took off a short moment later, anyway, to join some guy for lunch. When the two were finally alone, Lily started her own interrogation, targeting a different victim.  
  
"You're lying," she said quietly, after a while of eyeing and staring. Rosie shot her a look.  
  
"Lying? About what?"  
  
"Really, Rosie," Lily frowned a bit, not buying her answer. "I'd like to think I know my big sister a little better than that."  
  
"Well, I'd like to think my little sister knows when to stop assuming so much," Rosie countered mildly.  
  
Lily didn't take the hint. Or, if she did, she ignored it, instead eyeing Rosie skeptically, her mind still hard at work.   
  
"Its that science guy from yesterday, isn't it?" she accused in wonder, not seemingly upset or angry, or anything so drastic, really. "The one with the most peculiar name..."  
  
"Otto Octavius," Rosie prompted without waiting a single beat.   
  
"Strange," Lily frowned, wrinkling her nose in slight disgust. "What parents in their right minds would name their kid...that?"  
  
Rosie rolled her eyes. "I think it's a nice name..."  
  
"Might as well just name him Octopus..."  
  
"...and an interesting name," the other shot back with an amused half-grin.  
  
"... I suppose, if you like that sort of thing..."  
  
"Yes, well it's the perfect name for an intelligent scientist."  
  
Lily stopped abruptly and gasped. "Oh, no..."  
  
Her sister frowned, also stopping to look back at her. "What?"  
  
"Rosie, no..."  
  
"Lily, what?"   
  
"I can't believe it..."  
  
"Believe what?"  
  
"You. You like him."  
  
It was Rosie's turn to be surprised, her mouth falling open a bit. "I do not."  
  
"Yes, you do! It really is obvious now," she sighed, walking up to her bewildered sister. "You like him... and you're going to break Eric's heart because of him."  
  
Rosie found herself suddenly starting to feel irritated, and it showed in her voice when she snapped, "Well, now this is ridiculous! What are you, a fortune-teller, or just a really bad actress?"  
  
Lily wasn't affected. "Rosie... don't be that way. What else am I supposed to think? You didn't even tell me what went on last night.."  
  
"Nothing went on! We just took a walk. Am I not allowed to have new male friends, or is taking the walk with them that bothers you?"  
  
"That look you gave him yesterday was more than just a look between new friends."  
  
"So you read minds now, too?" Rosie half-laughed sharply and sarcastically. "Amazing, Lily, but I think your powers are in great need of some fine-tuning."   
  
"There's my two favorite girls!" a voice suddenly called out.  
  
From behind them, two long arms draped across either of their shoulders and none other than Eric appeared between the two of them. He was grinning from ear to ear, and Rosie immediately felt guilty... for some reason. She silently scolded herself. There was nothing to feel guilty about. Nothing at all.  
  
"Hey, sweetie," Rosie said with a brilliant smile, leaning over to kiss him full on the lips. She almost threw a look Lily's way as if to say, 'see? I like my boyfriend only,' but stopped herself just in time. Why should she need to prove herself, anyway? There was nothing that needed proving.   
  
"How did your presentation go?"  
  
"Oh, it was shit," Eric shrugged carelessly, "just like everything else I do."  
  
Rosie smirked gently, shaking her head.   
  
"Honestly, Eric, not everything you do is... crap," she arched a brow, not one to use such language as lightly as he, even though he was kidding. "Even you have your moments."  
  
"You're right," he nodded, mock-seriously. "And... this would be one of them."  
  
Without warning, he easily scooped her up into his arms. Laughing as he carried her off at a jog, Rosie only just barely caught Lily's skeptical look as she watched the pair.   
  
But during the remainder of that afternoon's classes, Rosalie wasn't so confident and sure of herself. She had to finally push away thoughts of Lily, Otto, and Eric to be able to even partially concentrate on what her professors were saying. In the end, she was only half successful, and waiting right outside Central Park found her more nervous and anxious than she had been in a while. Lily had made her doubt herself. Sisters were good about that sort of thing. There were times she wondered if her little sister indeed knew her better than she did herself.   
  
Luckily, she wasn't given too much more time to ponder the questions tumbling about in her mind. Four fifteen had finally rolled around, and would find her waiting with her bike and one she'd borrowed from a friend. Two helmets were held in her hands, and a small bag was slung over one shoulder. Knowing her hair would have become a nuisance, she'd pulled it back into a bun so no stray strands would brush Otto's coat, worn fondly over a sleeveless shirt and sweat pants. She'd worn the long coat all day, and only Eric had asked her about it. Naturally, she'd lied, saying a friend of theirs, Jon, had lent it to her. Eric had seemed suspicious, but Rosie had outwardly given him no reason to not believe her. It was surprisingly warm and smelt just like Otto, so much that part of her didn't want to give it up just yet.  
  
That was when he appeared, her shawl still slung over his shoulders upon the button-up, white shirt and khaki-colored pants he wore. Not exactly the best bike-riding attire... especially that stainless shirt. Hopefully, he wouldn't fall and stain it... too much. She tried not to smile too much as he approached, his dark eyes looking skeptically towards the bikes.   
  
"I've been dreading having to face this strange... creature all day," were the first dry words out of his mouth.  
  
She laughed lightly, easily falling back into conversation with him, as if they'd never parted. "This 'creature' is perfectly harmless, Otto. Its not going to breathe fire and eat you alive."  
  
He raised his brow up at her, thrusting his hands into his pockets. "Actually, I was talking about you, and you described my fears exactly."  
  
Rosie shot him a look and he grinned. "Whatever happened to that charming fellow I met yesterday on the steps?"  
  
"I'm afraid you're having those delusions again," he countered quite seriously. "I was never charming, and you were never harmless."  
  
"Pity," she frowned thoughtfully. "I was just starting to... tolerate him, too."  
  
He blinked, caught off guard at that comment. Hadn't she meant 'like,' not tolerate? Shrugging his shoulders, he arched a brow, manner as casual as possible.  
  
"Well, you know...your 'delusional fellow' could make a habit of showing up now and again."  
  
He was rewarded with a tight smile that still sparkled, in his eyes, nonetheless. "Good. See that he does, for me." She raised a brow pointedly. "Are you done stalling, then? Because these bikes want very badly to be ridden today."  
  
"Yes... and then they want very badly to take us to early, untimely deaths."  
  
She just shook her head, handing him one helmet. "Nonsense. Here. Not that you need it with that hard head of yours."  
  
Meeting her dryly playful look with one of his own, he took the helmet, before noticing her shawl was still wrapped about his shoulders.  
  
"Oh, here," he muttered awkwardly, taking it off and handing it carefully over to her, as if afraid to rip the fabric. "I, ah... enjoyed wearing it today."  
  
Rosie looked surprised. "You wore it... all day?"  
  
"Yes," he nodded solemnly, "and I would like to personally thank you for each and every stare and insults my fellow classmates gave me."  
  
She bit her lower lip guiltily. "Otto. You did not have to wear it all day."  
  
"Yes, well, which is... probably why I didn't," he admitted, smiling slightly but lowering his gaze guiltily.   
  
He smirked when she hit him with her shawl for that one. In truth, he had started to wear it that morning... until one Curtis Conners was the first comrade to notice it very distastefully. Otto explained who had given it to him, and that led to conversation that was more of a debate.   
  
"If this girl is one of your new 'projects,' I'd give up before starting on her, Otto," the blonde man commented skeptically in one of the school labs. "She'll only end up being a waste of both your time and efforts."  
  
"What, because she isn't a science major?" Otto snorted, shaking his head. "Isn't that a bit biased of you, Curtis?"  
  
"She's just going to distract you from your work," Curtis arched a brow, using his test tube holder as a pointer for emphasis, "even more so than you already are. You're already a scatter-brained young scientist. Why complicate your life further?"  
  
"Because she's a complication worth having."  
  
For the moment, that had ended that, though it had not satisfied his skeptical friend who seemed to take his studious life even more seriously than Otto did.   
  
Rosie was taking his jacket off her shoulders, anyway, bringing him back from his thoughts to reality. Arching a brow, he shook his head lightly.  
  
"Keep it for now. If I survive this day, then you can give it back to me. If not, well... keep it as a little souvenir to remember me by." He shrugged. "And it looks better on you, anyway."  
  
She smiled gently, gazing at him thoughtfully. "Thank you..." Rosie placed one hand upon her hip, "but you're stalling again."  
  
"You really want to see me make a fool of myself on this thing, don't you?"  
  
She opened her mouth to protest, but he continued.  
  
"Did you know that when people first rode bikes around here, they only allowed it from midnight to 9 a.m.?" he asked, nodding. "Yes, its true. In 1880, this League of American Wheelman, I think it was called, held annual meetings every May here. They decided that bikes were too dangerous and destroyed many of those contraptions due to horrible, terrible accidents." He raised a finger and pointed it at the bike in emphasis. "They had the right idea, Rosie."  
  
By this time, Rosie had gotten her helmet snugly fit upon her head and had either leg over the sides of her bike, ready to go. Arching a brow at him, she just shrugged her shoulders in defeat. Her words, however, were not exactly what he'd been expecting.  
  
"Accuse me not, beseech thee, that I wear too calm and sad a face in front of thine," she sighed softly, mock-dramatically putting a hand to her forehead, "for we two look two ways, and cannot shine with the same sunlight on our brow and hair."  
  
Otto frowned, narrowing his eyes in slight bewilderment as he studied her. She only smiled sweetly, before sitting on the seat, grasping the handlebars firmly... and taking off down the sidewalk on her bike. His brow rose in surprise.  
  
"And what the hell was that supposed to mean, Miss Poet?"  
  
"It means stay there in the shadows where its nice and safe, Mr. Scientist!" she called back gleefully over one shoulder.   
  
He scowled. The challenge in her voice had been quite clear. Plus, he wasn't about to let her get away with that last laugh. Still eyeing the bike doubtfully, he quickly pulled the helmet on, grumbling at the tight fit. Forcing the kick stand up, he eased one foot over the other side, grasping the handlebars uneasily.  
  
_ Easy as riding a bike... why was it people always used that figure of speech to compare the ease of doing something you hadn't done in a while?   
_  
"Damn English students probably thought it up," he muttered to himself, before raising his head to look down the sidewalk to the corner she had just disappeared around. He took a deep breath, hesitated, then...  
  
Oh, what the hell?  
  
Once planted firmly onto the bike seat, feet pumping the pedals, he started unsteadily down the concrete, the bike already wobbling dangerously. He decided at once that he did not enjoy this feeling of having no control whatsoever over the contraption he rode. His eyes wide, practically bulging out of his skull, he attempted balance, and succeeded for a while...  
  
...but unfortunately, it was a very short while.   
  
There were these irritating things called obstacles, and they were walking directly into his path. Yelling out, he barely managed to swerve and miss hitting the surprised elderly couple who, of course, could not instinctively jump out of his way with some sudden spurt of youthful energy. As it was when he usually faced distractions in life, he found his attention divided, and only too late managed to focus on his serious predicament. By then, it was only a heartbeat more before his bike hit the grass, a tree, and turned over, taking the captain down with the ship.  
  
Immediately, as he groaned there on the grass, there came the sound of someone rushing up to him and then a familiar voice filled with concern.  
  
"Otto, are you alright?"  
  
He squinted up into the sunlight at Rosie's face. She did genuinely looked worried, making him feel a fraction better.   
  
"More or less," he grunted, really only lying a bit about the initial pain of his fall, and struggling to sit up, pushing the bike off his legs. "Luckily, the helmet and my hard head broke my fall."   
  
"Good," she sounded relieved, but he saw the smile instantly taking over her face.  
  
"Why, so you can laugh at me now with a clear conscience?"  
  
"No," she shook her head, offering her hands to help him up. "So I can teach you how to ride a bike properly."  
  
Frowning dryly, he took her unneeded hands nonetheless and struggled to slightly shaky feet. Arching a brow at her, he realized Curtis had been wrong. Rosie had not become Otto's project, he had become hers. Giving his hands a brief, reassuring squeeze, she quickly let go to put his bike right-side-up again. He sighed slightly, knowing even with the soreness he was feeling in his body, perhaps only a precursor to the pain he'd feel tomorrow, there would be no refusing her and her proposition now.  
  
It would have been quite amusing to see the strange pair riding their bikes, he doing it so carefully. She had a hand out upon his back to steady him, and he constantly reached out his hand to grab hers, fearing a fall. They were doing fine for a while, and when Rosie thought him steady enough to ride on his own, she slowly let go and watched him take off.   
  
"Hey... hey, look at me!" Otto grinned in almost childish delight as he rode solo. "I'm riding a bike!"  
  
She laughed. "Just keep it up, Otto! Don't doubt yourself!"  
  
And he didn't. He was laughing gleefully, but the moment he started getting cocky... he lost control. Luckily, there were no people involved in his fall this time, just a hard rock, a violent bump, and then a soft patch of grass.   
  
"It'll be better next time; you'll see," she reassured him as she helped him up again. Noticing his once white shirt was quite grass-stained now, she shrugged off his coat and handed it to him.  
  
"Here. You need it more than I do, now."  
  
He arched a brow, glancing down at his shirt and shrugging his shoulders as if to say, 'so what?' Looks had never mattered all that much to him. But he took the long jacket and pulled it on, anyway.  
  
"Alright then, genius," Rosie arched a brow. "Got any better ideas how to spend an afternoon in Central Park?"  
  
Otto Octavius just smiled.  
  
The two ended up sitting beneath a shady tree near a clearing of fresh grass in the park. In his hands was her literature book, and he was studying T.S. Eliot. In her hands was his Quantum Physics book and she, of course, was studying Albert Einstein's theory of relativity. By the mixtures of confusion, bewilderment, and frustration that passed over their faces, it was rather clear that both were having a hard time at it. Rosie, however, was the first one to sigh in defeat. She laid back on the grass, stretched out, and set the open book over her face so that her eyes and face were hidden from the sun and everything else. Her hair made a sort of natural, soft halo of golden brown about her head on the grass.  
  
"That's it. I give up. I don't understand it," she shrugged one shoulder, raising a hand to lazily gesture in the air. " E equals mc squared... energy and mass are interchangeable... there is no set time or speed... blah, blah, blah..."  
  
Otto arched a brow over at her, carefully closing his poetry book. Looking down at her, he gazed softly at her in wonder. Smirking quite dryly and humorlessly, he shook his head.  
  
"Unbelievable," he murmured.  
  
Her book-covered face turned slightly to his, a brow quirked in question.  
  
"What?"  
  
"You're not even trying to understand it!" he exclaimed, scowling slightly.  
  
"Well, I'm sorry If I can't be an instant scientific genius like you," she rolled her eyes, voice muffled slightly from the book.  
  
"Rosalie, you are a genius," he sighed in exasperation, absently raking his fingers through his mass of thick, dark hair, "you're just a different kind of genius."  
  
She smiled softly at the compliment, still hidden beneath the book... just as her cover from the world was lifted from her face. Squeezing her eyes shut stubbornly, lips pouting ever so slightly, she refused to look at him. He nudged her lightly.  
  
"Come now, Rosie, I'll explain it again."  
  
"Otto..." she groaned.  
  
"Yes, we'll start at the beginning. Open those eyes, now. Sit up."  
  
"No," she smiled tightly. "You can't make me."  
  
"Oh, yes I can. Here," he laid down on his side so that he was closer to her and facing her. One of his arms went about her head on the ground.  
  
"Crane your neck up some. You can lean your head up and back on my arm."  
  
There was no refusing him. He wouldn't let her. She did finally give in, and soon he was lecturing her, the back of her head propped up against his arm. Rosie held the book opened, it standing up on her chest, and Otto leaned over her occasionally to turn the pages and gesture animatedly with his free hand. He was the teacher now, she the student, and as such, the moment remained completely innocent. Rosie was focusing so much on trying to understand what he was telling her that it left little room for much else...  
  
...more or less.  
  
"Still with me, Rosie?" he paused to ask her at one point.  
  
She shook her head, brow furrowed in concentration above her brown eyes staring hard at the pages in front of her. "Not... exactly."  
  
"No?" he arched a brow down at her. "Where did you get lost?"  
  
"At... the part when you started speaking...?" she looked up at him innocently.  
  
He couldn't even begin to stay mad at her long. Chuckling quietly, he tugged lightly on a bit of her soft hair with the hand that rested on the grass there beside her head. He let his other hand rest back upon his side.  
  
"What's so hard to understand here, Miss Poet?" he raised a brow in slight disbelief. "Your T.S. Eliot is the one here that doesn't make sense. Compared to Einstein, he was probably another one of those free-thinking hippies, like the rest of them, spending all his wasted time smoking... something..."   
  
She shot him a look and elbowed him playfully. He laughingly apologized, leaning slightly closer to her. Rosie only sighed lightly and looked up at him thoughtfully, laying the book down opened upon her chest.  
  
"Otto," she started conversationally, changing the subject, "what do you want to do with the rest of your life?" She shrugged her shoulders some. "When you get out of college, I mean."  
  
He sighed rather wistfully before answering seriously, "Invent some universal charm so women everywhere will fall in love with me."  
  
Rosie rolled her eyes and elbowed him again. He snorted gently.  
  
"Joking, joking," he said quickly, before shrugging his shoulders lightly. "What do I want to do with the rest of my life? Study, I suppose, research, then... invent something no one ever dreamed possible of inventing before." A small smile turned the corners of his lips upwards as his voice became slightly distant. "Something that will change peoples' lives for the best, and something they'll thank Otto Octavius for every day until his heart beats for the very last time."  
  
She half-smiled a bit, looking up at him skeptically. He noticed this and frowned in a bit of offense. Here he'd been pouring out his heart to her and telling her his dreams, being very much the 'poet,' and she was doubting him?   
  
"What?"  
  
"Just trying to decide if you're wanting to create this genius invention merely for yourself and the fame or for the better of mankind."  
  
"Well... perhaps a little of both, actually," he admitted honestly. "This is what I love to do, Rosie. Its my passion, and that shouldn't be wasted entirely on my own selfishness."  
  
"Well..." she raised a brow pointedly, "just make sure you don't turn into some mad, evil scientist while you're at it. It would be a pity to see such a brilliant mind go to waste."  
  
"I'll try my best to stay good and sane, then, if you promise to stay with me and keep me that way," he countered with a grin. She smirked gently, lowering her gaze, even if he was only joking. With Otto, it was hard to tell. He went on, however, so the awkward moment did not play out longer. "And do you want to do when you get out of this prison?"  
  
"Teach literature," she answered almost immediately, a brilliant smile lighting her face. "High school, perhaps, Maybe younger."  
  
"Ah, mold young, impressionable minds into thinking just as strangely as you do," he nodded knowingly. "Very nice, very nice. Well, you've already done a number on me, but perhaps their innocent, naive brains will be easier to sculpt into your perfect little, poetry-spouting minions."  
  
Rosie smirked, shaking her head. "You know, I think you probably should invent that charm thing first. You really could use it."  
  
They shared a smirk in that lazy moment. Smiling gently, he shook his head a bit in soft exasperation. She just never gave up, did she? Gazing up at him fondly, she was suddenly aware that his hand, the one down beside her head, was gently stroking her long hair, almost of its own accord. The idly massaging motion was at once so comfortable and soothing that she felt her body completely relax.   
  
"We're never really going to understand each other, are we?" she asked in a bittersweet voice.  
  
"No," he said quietly, serious now. "We understand each other perfectly. Eliot and Einstein just can't seem to understand us yet." He raised a brow, aware his heart was beating louder in his chest, "but that Elizabeth Barrett Browning...she understands us completely."  
  
Rosie's own pulse had quickened, despite the ease with which the moment played out as he leaned down over her, face closer yet. Her lips parted with a soft intake of breath when he raised his free hand to touch her cheek, his fingertips so gently he seemed afraid to break this fragile creature. She was lost in his adoring eyes, caught in the emotion and the feeling of the dreamlike moment. It didn't seem to matter to her that she was allowing it all to happen. Otto, himself, was usually not this forward. Women had always remained a mystery to the science-driven, researching young man. But this moment... it felt right, and that was more than enough for the both of them.   
  
"Sweet Rosalie," he whispered, his breath pleasantly warm upon her skin... before closing that distance and pressing his lips to hers.  
  
She instantly melted into the gentle tenderness of that kiss. It was anything but an awkward, clumsy first kiss. It was as if their lips had been made to fit against the others and do exactly what they were doing now. As such, she instinctively kissed him back with the same almost careful pressure, as if both were afraid too much force would ruin and end it all too soon. Neither hurried or rushed it. She lifted her hand to cover his upon her cheek, her fingertips dancing lightly to lace with his. It was all so surreal, that part of her wouldn't have been surprised if she'd woken up in her bed from the pleasant dream.   
  
But it was not a dream, and the embrace, sweet in its innocence and naivety, could not last forever. She was the first to break away reluctantly to gaze up at him in wonder. He looked back in knowing awe, one finger lightly stroking her cheek. No words were spoken or needed; they only... smiled at each other.  
  
And he leaned in to kiss her again, but Rosie had realized something. Unfortunately, she'd glanced at her wrist watch, and her eyes had immediately widened.  
  
"I'm late."  
  
He frowned, caught quite off-guard.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I'm late! I-I have to go," she managed hurriedly, releasing his hand and pushing herself with a slight struggle to her feet. Otto clumsily did the same beside her.  
  
"Let me walk you back."  
  
"No, I should probably ride my bike back. It'll be faster," she disagreed, before giving a small smile and a careless shrug. "I'm afraid you'd only slow me down."  
  
He smirked in amusement, looking at her again beneath furrowed brow... in that way that really got to her. It was another gaze that was more than easy to get lost in. She had to blink herself from his spell and back to reality to take a step away from him.  
  
"I'm sorry. If I'm any later, they'll probably take me outside and execute me, so..." she smiled once more, raising one hand in a makeshift little wave. "So I'll just be going then."  
  
And before he could really protest, she was easily mounting her bike and taking off down the sidewalk. After returning to his senses and doing a double-take at his bike there on the ground, he called back to her.  
  
"What about this other bike?"  
  
"Leave it at the bike rack in front of my dorm building!" she shouted back.  
  
"You've got to stop leaving me so quickly like this, you know!" he shot back.  
  
He thought he heard her laughter reach him on a breeze before she disappeared around a corner. Looking down, he noticed she'd left her poetry book. Half-grinning, he shook his head and reached up a hand to lightly scratch the back of his neck.One thing he didn't mind was Rosalie Harris leaving mementos behind for him. It, as well as the kiss, made his situation look quite promising.

* * *

**"T**hat's quite enough, Miss!"  
  
Rosie glanced down... and her eyes widened. The cup she'd been pouring hot coffee into had overflowed. Setting the coffee jug down quickly, she succeeded in accidently overturning the salt and pepper shakers as she rushed to clean up the mess with a towel right before the steaming liquid met the customer's lap.  
  
"I'm so sorry," she apologized profusely and guiltily as the older man glared up at her impatiently.   
  
But for all her apologies, she'd only been having more and more accidents. Only moments before, she'd actually poured coffee into a student's lap. Luckily, the student had been more understanding than the impatient bald man of the moment. Even with the warnings and questions of concern for her health from her co-workers, she found it nearly impossible to focus on any task at hand. Of course she blamed it all on Otto Octavius, but, of course, was also anything but mad at him.  
  
The bell on the door jingled as it opened again. There was a constant stream of people walking in and out of the small coffee shop, so Rosie took no notice. One of te other waitresses, however, did. She hurried over and tugged at the man's arm. Eric turned his head down to her, brow raised inquisitively beneath long, blonde bangs.  
  
"What did you do to her?" the black-haired girl accused, arms crossed over her chest indignantly.  
  
Eric smirked in light amusement, only adjusting the strap upon his shoulder, attached to his guitar case. It amazed him how most of Rosie's friends were crazy, but he was used to being around artistic types who were usually even worse.  
  
"Skye, what?"  
  
"Rosie!" Skye exclaimed in frustration. "She's had her head in the clouds ever since she showed up..." she frowned pointedly, "_late_."  
  
Moving his gaze away, he found and studied his girlfriend across the room, who was cowering guiltily beneath the scolding of an older man, Steve. He arched a brow in light surprise, unable to remember ever seeing her as the victim of the manager's wrath. Nodding his thanks to Skye, he headed over to the pair.  
  
"Are you new here? Is this your first day?" Steve was asking her sarcastically, arms crossed over his chest, "because this is totally unacceptable, Rosie."  
  
"I know, I know, and I'm sorry, sir," she was apologizing quietly, gaze lowered. "I've just had... a really weird day."  
  
"Oh, so that just makes it all okay, then?" Steve continued fuming.  
  
"Hey, babe! What's it take to get some good music around here?" Eric's voice interrupted, taking that moment to interrupt. He touched her shoulder and gave it a light squeeze.  
  
She glanced up at her savior and smiled in gentle relief.   
  
"Oh, Eric... the stage is all yours," she gestured to the small 'stage' area where a chair and microphone were set up.  
  
Eric arched a brow in concern. Up close, she did look and feel tense beneath his fingertips. Smiling, he decided to suggest something else instead that might help them all out.  
  
"I've got a better idea. How about you perform for us a little, first?"  
  
Steve looked skeptical. Eric sent him a pointed look.  
  
"It'll help relax her."  
  
The older man sighed, before throwing his hands up in defeat. "Fine. God knows she's getting nothing right waiting tables tonight." He arched a brow sharply. "But only one song."  
  
Eric grinned down at Rosie. "C'mon, Rosie. Sing one of my favorites."  
  
By the slightly dry look upon her expression, Rosie didn't look too excited to sing anything, whether it be his favorite or not. But by the time she'd sat down before the microphone and heard the introductory chords as Eric strummed his guitar beside her, she found she was slowly starting to get into the powerful music.   
  
_"Starry, starry night.   
Paint your palette blue and grey,   
Look out on a summer's day,   
with eyes that know the darkness in my soul.   
  
Shadows on the hills,   
Sketch the trees and the daffodils,   
Catch the breeze and the winter chills,  
In colors on the snowy linen land."_  
  
The café was usually filled with artistic people, and since the song was about Vincent Van Gogh, it was a favorite to more than just Steve. Rosie was not a painter, but the song still touched her in a bittersweet way, and it had a lovely melody that easily rang out from her lips throughout the small room. Eric watched her with admiration. Really, the boy was quite see-through when it came to his personality, and it was no surprise to anyone how crazy he was about this singing waitress.  
  
_ "Now I understand what you tried to say to me,   
How you suffered for your sanity,   
How you tried to set them free.   
They would not listen, they did not know how.   
Perhaps they'll listen now."  
_  
During one of the many times the bell jingled again, Otto Octavius walked inside. It had been hard enough finding out just exactly where Rosie worked. Convincing her paranoid, over-protective roommate that he was not some crazy stalker had almost not been worth it. In the end, he'd gotten it out of her, and now all he could hope was that she hadn't been lying about it. As he searched the crowded little place for that particular waitress, that mellifluous voice reached his ears. There was something strangely familiar about it, but he couldn't quite place his finger on it. When he saw who it came from, he at once knew why.   
  
_ "For they could not love you,  
But still your love was true.  
And when no hope was left in sight  
On that starry, starry, night  
You took your life as lovers often do  
But I could have told you, Vincent  
This world was never meant for one  
As beautiful as you."_

  
It was not a perfectly trained voice, but rang out sweetly and clearly. By that, and the contented expression upon her face, he knew she sung from her heart. The woman the voice came from was his Rosalie Harris, so that alone was more than enough for him. She was at once the picture of loveliness and grace, even wearing just her plain uniform of shorts and the white t-shirt. Her serene gaze and calm expression remained constant. Ignoring the presence of Blondie, strumming on his guitar, Otto took a seat at an empty table to listen.   
  
"_Starry, starry night.  
Portraits hung in empty halls,  
Frameless head on nameless walls,  
With eyes that watch the world and can't forget._

_Like the strangers that you've met,  
The ragged men in the ragged clothes,  
The silver thorn of bloody rose,  
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow.   
  
Now I think I know what you tried to say to me,  
How you suffered for your sanity,  
How you tried to set them free.  
They would not listen, they're not listening still.  
Perhaps they never will."_  
  
Once the last note of her voice had faded gently into the air, the crowd burst into applause. Otto was, undoubtedly, the most enthusiastic. For all the staring and wide, open-mouthed watching he'd did, she'd never noticed him in the small crowd. It hadn't helped that she often closed her eyes as she sang, letting the music envelop her senses completely. Meanwhile, it was unneeded for him to say it, but Eric did anyway, standing and holding his hands out, gesturing to Rosie.  
  
"Put your hands together for my goddess of the arts, Rosie Harris!" he called out, grinning from ear to ear.  
  
Otto looked sharply to Eric as if noticing him for the first time and frowned, startled by those words. He couldn't help feeling slightly protective of her. No. Not his. My Rosie... He's wrong.   
  
But she was smiling gently, accepting the applause graciously. The song had almost made her cry, as it often did. The emotion of the song wore her out every time, even though it was not a physically exhausting or difficult song to sing. Otto could easily go back to ignoring Eric by focusing on her and trying to catch her eye. Would she smile brilliantly and rush into his arms? He could only hope as much, though even just that smile of acknowledgment would have worked for him. As such, he was completely caught off-guard when Blondie took her into his arms instead and kissed her passionately.   
  
Perhaps most surprising was that she did not break away. She even looked like she was kissing him back. As people returned to their private discussions over their drinks, no one really noticed the dark haired young man as he stood from his table and turned towards the door, his feet seeming to drag heavily upon the floor. No one save Skye, who he handed Rosie's literature book to.  
  
"See that Miss Harris gets that."   
  
And without another word or backwards glance to the couple upon the stage, he went out the door with another cheery jingle of the bell. In his mind, a sneering voice seemed to speak to him, succeeding in bringing him down even more. _You knew she was dating him... did you really expect one measly little kiss from you to end that?   
_  
"No," Otto murmured softly, sadly, to himself, before heading back to his home.  
  
After returning to work, Rosie was given the book back. Her cheeks still glowing from the excitement of singing, her blood pumping, it took a moment for her mind to register where it had come from. When realization did hit her, she smiled easily, feeling another wave of blushes tinging her features. He'd heard her sing? Immediately, she started searching the people there for his familiar face.  
  
"Is he still here, Skye?" she asked hopefully.  
  
The other waitress shook her head, not sparing another moment as she rushed off to tend to some customers' drink orders. Rosie felt her shoulders slump slightly with that disappointment. At once, she wondered if he'd left because her singing had disappointed him, or if there were other reasons... but what? Their short afternoon together had been... well, heavenly, to use a cliche. _Why, then, would he...?  
_  
"Service, please!" Eric called from his table, bringing her thoughts back to the present, with a cocky grin upon his joking face.   
  
Eric. Of course. But when he'd taken her into his arms for that kiss, it had felt completely normal, and almost... like a bad habit. Bad habit? Well, she certainly could not honestly describe that kiss shared with Otto as unpleasant even in the least bit. Wondering how in two days her once quiet and simple little life could have become so confused and muddled with questions, she pushed her mane of hair behind her absently, before turning towards his table. She knew she'd have to make a choice more sooner than later, and already it was bringing the beginnings of feelings of dread within her stomach. At the rate things were going, she was starting to figure she'd have a heart attack from all the stress before she was 30 years old. Dryly, she thought it'd be the perfect end to a sad little poet's life.


End file.
